


Lighthouse

by Ilovecastiel18



Series: Beacons [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Honestly they're so cute though, Hurt/Comfort, Hurting!Crowley, I love these two idiots, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Romance, because of course they're holding hands in the bus scene, but i love it, hand holding, honestly it hurts but it's cute at the end, major feels, this fic was an accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilovecastiel18/pseuds/Ilovecastiel18
Summary: While in the bus on the way back to London after the near-Apocalypse, Crowley is drowning in a sea of emotions while also battling a deep feeling of emptiness. Aziraphale notices and tries to help. Aziraphale/Crowley at the end. Hurt/Comfort, angst, fluffy ending.





	Lighthouse

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I sat down and started writing this, I had an entirely different idea in mind. But, the story got away from me so now here we are, with an extremely emotional Crowley and an Aziraphale who is practically begging to understand. Please review if you like it!

**Disclaimer:** Good Omens, along with its characters, locations, etc. are the property of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. If I owned the rights to it, I wouldn’t still be desperate to meet the man that I absolutely ADORE: David Tennant.

……….

Lighthouse

……….

It had been a _very_ long day.

All Crowley wanted to do was curl up on his bed, in his apartment (possibly beside Aziraphale, though he would never admit that to himself) and sleep for a few decades.

He was exhausted, physically and emotionally; he felt like all his spark had been drained out of him like water through a strainer – leaving only blood, bone, and organs, none of the usual life that made Crowley who he was.

When he sat on the bus to head back to London after the events of the near-Apocalypse, Crowley couldn’t help but grab Aziraphale’s hand and cling to it like a raft in a flood. He didn’t think his weariness would last, but it still felt nice to have an anchor to hold onto as he drifted in his sea of emotions.

He was trying to force himself not to think about the events of the last few years, the last few days especially. But, just like everything that he tried to forget, it stayed, like a fragment of a song swimming in the depths of his consciousness.

He kept thinking about how he had mislaid the Antichrist, causing he and Aziraphale to waste precious time trying to influence Warlock to be neutral.

He remembered when they had found out that it was the wrong boy, seeing his anxiety mirrored in his best friend’s eyes. How they had careened away toward Tadfield, trying to find something, anything, that would help stop the Apocalypse and the wraths of Heaven and Hell.

He remembered finding nothing, feeling that sinking feeling of failure squeeze his chest as Aziraphale looked around hopelessly.

He remembered asking Aziraphale to run away with him to Alpha Centauri, realizing with regret that there was simply nothing they could do to save the humans. They didn’t know where the Antichrist was, who he had become, and whether he was already taking over the world with his Hellhound.

He could visualize when Aziraphale had said “I forgive you” on the pavement in front of his bookshop, a look of deep sadness in his eyes. How he had spun away before the angel could really look at him, mumbling some halfhearted insult and speeding away before his tears could spill.

And he remembered the fire.

He remembered feeling his entire soul burst like a dam, feeling his love for Aziraphale seep out like smoke, to curl and join with the smoke and flames surrounding him. He sat with tears in his eyes, trying to form his shattered heart into something that he could work with again.

When he had walked outside, he blamed his tears on the fire, yelling at the emergency personnel and speeding away in his Bentley.

He could feel the unimaginable hope and longing that had filled him when Aziraphale had appeared in front of him in the bar, explaining that he had discorporated and didn’t know where he was. He remembered explaining to Aziraphale how his bookshop had burned down, but _he saved the book!_ Aziraphale had explained that he needed to go to Tadfield, find a boy named Adam Young, and Crowley had never been more motivated to do anything in his life.

There had been a hope. Aziraphale was back, he had found the Antichrist, and everything could, possibly, be resolved.

He could still see the Them finishing off the Four Horsemen, see the hope on Aziraphale’s face, because he thought they had won, that it was over.

He could still feel his dawning horror as he felt Lucifer rising from Hell, feel his heart shattering as he explained that to his angel. How everything was most certainly not alright, and they still may never see each other again.

Then, Adam saved everything, and things went back to how they had always been. The only difference being the hollow feeling that the events had left in Crowley’s chest, like a cork had been pulled from his heart, letting all his usual feelings seep out and leaving nothing but weariness and a deep sense of sorrow.

Sorrow that Heaven and Hell had wanted this, had wanted the world to end and the humans to be destroyed. They had wanted a war, the war to end all wars, that would destroy everything that God had created.

It would have left Crowley and Aziraphale separated, broken, empty, and longing for their lost friend. A feeling that nobody else in either of their realms would understand or care about. They would carry on with their usual tasks, oblivious to the pain that one of their own would be feeling.

But life would go on.

Crowley couldn’t even imagine life without his angel. He hadn’t managed to get rid of his memories from within the burning bookshop, and he could remember the images of holy water that had been running through his frantic mind. The idea of Death had been the only thing calming the hurricane that had been raging in his brain.

Crowley had never entertained the notion of Death before, being immortal and all. But as suddenly as he had lost, or thought he’d lost, his friend, the idea was there. Planted as if it had been there all along, growing and sprouting seeds until it could no longer be ignored.

Crowley had chosen to disregard it for a while, electing to drown his sorrows in alcohol until the end of the world. If he waited long enough, he could be given a sword, a helmet and armor, and allow the angels to off him like they had always wanted. It would have only been a few more hours.

But his angel had come back. And they had saved the world, which was something that Crowley was having a hard time comprehending.

After the Fall, the fighting, the hatred… the world was saved. There would be no war, and he and his angel could continue living their lives on the planet that they both loved.

As Crowley reached over and grabbed onto Aziraphale’s hand, he felt like he was reaching for the light at the end of the tunnel. Like Aziraphale was a lighthouse on a beach while Crowley struggled against a riptide.

He hadn’t realized how desperately he had needed Aziraphale until the moment he touched him. Suddenly, he could feel again. He felt warmth drifting up his arm from where their hands were clasped together. He could feel Aziraphale squeeze his hand, sense the soft thumb stroking over his knuckles.

When he heard Aziraphale speak, he nearly had to choke back a sob, so incredibly grateful for the being that was sitting beside him.

“Crowley, what’s wrong?” the angel had muttered.

Crowley shook his head, unable to form words.

Aziraphale lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed Crowley’s knuckles.

“You know I’m always here for you, dear. If you need me.” Aziraphale said, leaning back into his seat and dropping their hands back onto his knee.

Crowley turned and, for the first time in a while, took his sunglasses off his face. He wanted Aziraphale to see his eyes, the tears and the emotions swirling around the slitted pupil like a tornado around a barren tree.

“Oh my…” Aziraphale muttered, lifting his free hand to turn Crowley’s face further toward him. He idly stroked his thumb along the demon’s jawline. “Is it just…”

“Everything.” Crowley managed to croak, interrupting Aziraphale’s question. He tried to form more words in his tear-dried throat. “I thought I’d lost you… thought I was going to lose you…” He rasped.

Aziraphale shushed him with a finger on his lips. “I’m here, Crowley.”

“I’m so lost, angel. These _emotions…”_ he tried to argue.

“I’m here, Crowley.” Aziraphale repeated. “You’re not lost anymore.” He ran his hand just below Crowley’s hair, letting the shorter strands tickle his hand, before tracing one eyebrow and a cheekbone with his thumb. He finally brought his hand back down to Crowley’s sharp chin, letting his thumb linger just under the demon’s trembling bottom lip.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley started to speak again, but the angel shushed him.

“I know, Crowley. I’ve always known. You don’t have to say it, dear.” He muttered. Their faces were so close together that they would be sharing breath, if either of them had the need or desire to breathe.

“I want to, angel.” Crowley paused, letting the tears that were welling in his eyes to fall. “I love you, Aziraphale. I thought demons were incapable of love until I met you. But all of this –” Crowley motioned to the mess that he had made of his usually cool face, “is because of how much I feared for you. I was drowning, Aziraphale, when you found me at that bar. Then I thought I was going to lose you when Satan came to reprimand Adam, and I…” he trailed off. “Please don’t leave me…” he breathed.

“My dear…” Aziraphale leaned forward even more, so their foreheads were touching and Crowley could _almost_ feel their lips brushing together. He could just barely see tears swimming in the angel’s eyes. “I would never leave you. I love you so much, Crowley, I cannot even begin to explain…”

“You don’t have to…” and then Crowley leaned forward and pressed their lips together, feeling Aziraphale’s hand move from his cheek to the back of his neck.

When they pulled apart, hands still clasped together, Crowley leaned his head onto Aziraphale’s shoulder. He breathed in the scent of the angel (old cologne, books, and a hint of cinnamon), something that he had thought was lost to him forever.

Crowley felt Aziraphale’s thumb lightly stroking his knuckles, and he realized that he had, truly, been saved. Aziraphale was his lighthouse – and he had made it home.


End file.
